


Osinato

by Cowardly Lion (Catsmeow)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drama, Episode Tag, Ficathon, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsmeow/pseuds/Cowardly%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Daniel run into Sara the day Jack is discharged from the hospital after his misadventure in Antarctica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Osinato

**Author's Note:**

> Ep tag to S1 "Solitudes". Written in June 2009 for the Jack-Sara Ficathon on Livejournal to the prompt "A chance meeting. Jack may or may not be with a member/members of the team".

"This," said Daniel, "is a bad idea." As he parked his car in front of the grocery store, he tried once more. "If you won't let me take you home first, then at least stay in the car while I do the shopping."

Jack made a rude noise. He had heard Daniel quite clearly the first eight-thousand times, but hearing and listening were two different things and Jack was not in a listening mood. He deliberately baited Daniel to force a change of subject.

"What, and miss this chance to see you in your unnatural habitat?"

The truth was, coming so close to dying alone in a frozen wasteland was still weighing heavily on Jack, and he had an irrepressible urge to be around people. For the first time, it had been easier for him to fall asleep when the infirmary was bustling with the regular routine of the medical personnel. It was later, when everything had been buttoned down for the night shift that Jack would snap awake from the silence. Lights dimmed to let patients sleep better were too similar to the weak sunlight that barely made it underground where he huddled on the ice, every shiver jarring his broken bones, while Carter worked on the dead DHD.

Daniel pulled the key from the ignition, sat back and blinked at Jack. "Un? What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means that I've seen your cupboards. You eat like a grad student. It's all peanut butter toast, spaghetti, and ramen noodles with you. You probably have no idea what's in most of the aisles here."

"This from a man who thinks beer is a food group." Daniel opened his door. "Don't move. I'll be right there."

Stifling a smile at Daniel's rejoinder, Jack opened his door as Daniel's door slammed shut. Raising his voice at first so that Daniel wouldn't miss any of the good-natured taunting, Jack said, "Besides, if I'm not there you'll get the wrong thing. If I ask for Ho-Ho's you'll get Ding-Dongs or Ring-Dings instead."

Daniel pulled the door all the way open and helped Jack swing his legs out of the car. The cast on Jack's leg made maneuvering difficult, but Daniel was very gentle with him, taking great care not to bump it on the frame of the car.

"So? They're all chocolate snack cakes with white cream filling."

Jack sneered. "Philistine."

Given his own state, it wasn't surprising that Jack hadn't realized that Carter wasn't firing on all cylinders, either. Apparently, she had slammed her head against the ice when she'd been hurled out of the gate. Thanks to the resulting concussion she hadn't been thinking clearly enough to try dialing any other address except Earth's. Once back at the SGC, after she had recovered enough to realize her mistake, Carter had been beside herself, apologizing to him more than once until he had had to order her to stop.

Moving slowly in deference to his cracked ribs and broken leg, and with Daniel's assistance, Jack stood. Daniel pulled Jack's cane from the front seat and handed it to him. There was only so much a pain pill could do, especially since Jack had an aversion to the strong stuff, so the walk into the store was equally slow and careful. He wanted to get this done before the current dose began to wane. Once inside, Jack took charge of the cart, hanging his cane from the handle and leaning on the cart for balance. He headed for the middle of the store.

"Wait." Daniel stopped Jack with a hand to his arm. "Where are you going?"

"Cereal." Jack pointed to the sign above aisle five. He'd run out of Fruit Loops the morning he left on the mission. Some of the Cocoa Krispies that Daniel liked would go down well, too.

"You also need milk and eggs and those are over on aisle one. We should start on one side of the store and work our way through. It'll be more efficient that way."

"I'm just getting some basics, Daniel. I don't need to see the whole store."

"You're out of pretty much everything Jack. Besides, even if all we get are the basics, we'll still have to go through the whole store since dairy is along the right hand wall and produce is along the far left."

Oh, that's right. Damned medication must be slowing his thinking, even at this low dosage. SG-1's mission had lasted a whole lot longer than planned what with the unscheduled stop in Antarctica and the subsequent hospital stay meaning that all the perishable stuff had gone bad days ago. Jack was glad it was Daniel who had cleaned out his smelly fridge, and not him. "Oh yeah. Forgot. The dairy case it is."

They traversed the aisles, methodically filling the cart. Jack took his time at the deli counter, stocking up on cold cuts and cheeses. Since it would be lunch time when they got back to Jack's house, he figured a couple of freshly made sandwiches would hit the spot. As they went through the store, Jack also tossed a few items in the cart which would be strictly for Daniel, such as the tabbouleh, the hummus and the pita chips. Jack had those on hand so often now that he was acquiring a taste for them as well. However, he'd make sure Daniel got first dibs.

By the time they reached the produce section at the other end of the store, Jack was fading. His pace had slowed and he didn't have the energy to engage in the customary semi-bicker with Daniel. Damned if he was going to admit that Daniel may have been right though. He wasn't going to cut this shopping trip short even if it killed him. The sheer normality of grocery shopping had done wonders for his mood. Hopefully he'd be able to eat lunch before the need to nap took over.

They paused at the display of apples, where Daniel inspected the fruit closely without selecting any. As Daniel internally debated the merits of the Gala apple versus the Fuji or Braeburn, Jack concentrated on staying upright without swaying.

"Jack?"

With a smile that was equal parts surprise and pleasure, Jack turned to greet his ex-wife. "Sara! Fancy meeting you here!"

She stepped around the produce bin to join them. Her smile faded as she took in Jack's cast and her face pinched with worry. "Jack, what happened?"

Jack put a little extra effort into straightening his spine and put on a nonchalant air. "I'm fine. This looks worse than it is."

"You don't look fine, Jack." That was Sara's you're-not-fooling-me voice. The one she used every time she called him on his bullshit or let him know an official cover story didn't fly. Jack had heard that tone a lot over the course of their marriage, usually because of cover stories. Eventually he had stopped trying to sell the story and just told her _Oh, by the way, the official version is _which worked out much better for them.

"No, really, I'm--"

"He is, in fact," Daniel interrupted sharply, a different variety of apple in each hand, "on the point of collapse but is too stubborn to admit it since I told him that coming to the store with me was a bad idea. Hi, Sara."

"Hi, Daniel." This time Sara asked the question of Daniel. "So, what's the damage this time?"

"I can talk, you know," Jack said.

Ignoring him, Daniel replied to Sara. "The mild concussion and the internal bleeding have been taken care of. All that's left to heal is the broken tibia and three broken ribs."

"I'm standing right here," complained Jack. He wasn't used to being talked over. Well, not outside of the infirmary, anyway. More than once since his posting to the SGC, Doctor Fraiser and General Hammond had stood at the end of his bed and excluded him from discussions about his health.

"Prognosis?" Sara's pinched look had eased up as Daniel rattled off the list of Jack's injuries. She was an old pro at knowing which were dangerous and which were merely debilitating.

"Very good," Daniel reassured her. "The only reason he's looking pasty white is because he was discharged from the hospital about an hour ago. Once he sits for a while, rests up, he'll look a lot better. We're making sandwiches for lunch. Care to join us?"

Jack added his voice to Daniel's. "Yes, please join us. I think I missed a meeting at the coffee shop while I was gone, didn't I? Let me make up for that today." She still hesitated, so he risked taking one hand off of the supporting cart in order to touch her arm. "Please, Sara."

Decision made, she nodded. "I'll need directions, but sure--I'll join you."

Jack wasn't prepared for the relief that flowed through him at her assent. It seemed he wanted to see her more than he realized. Their meeting in the park in the aftermath of the incident with the crystal entity had re-opened communication between them. They had begun talking on the phone which had gradually led to regular meetings at a coffee shop. Several times, Jack had brought Daniel along as a buffer which had worked out quite well - Daniel and Sara were compatible in many ways.

Sometimes, whether it was just him and Sara or if Daniel was along, they stuck with lighthearted subjects such as new movies or books, and just enjoyed each other's company. Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, Jack and Sara had intense discussions of issues from their past together.

They had been careful to keep the meetings at a time and place which could in no way be construed as a romantic date. Much as Jack wanted to, he knew that they weren't nearly ready to broach the subject of reconciliation yet. He had to exercise all of his patience and let things between him and Sara unfold naturally. Rushing might ruin everything. This, though, did not feel like rushing. This felt right.

"Sure. Do you have anything to write with?" Jack had never known Sara to be without pen and paper in her purse.

"Or, how about," suggested Daniel, "you drive Jack home while I finish the shopping?"

Daniel accented his suggestion with meaningful looks and a raised eyebrow all of which shouted at Jack to take the opportunity to be alone with Sara. Poor guy seemed to think that he was being subtle, too. Jack caught Sara's eye and she had to look away to hide a smile.

"You know," continued Daniel, "now that I think of it, I've got somewhere to be, so--"

Apparently Daniel was still obsessed with getting Jack and his ex back together. Jack appreciated the sentiment, but preferred to work at his own pace.

"Daniel," he said patiently, "you don't have anywhere else to be. You already cleared your calendar to come home with me for the night, remember? Sara and I will have plenty of time to talk alone in the car. Oh, and until you come with the groceries, she won't get any lunch, so don't dawdle."

Daniel looked a little embarrassed to be caught in the middle of plotting, but nodded his agreement. Taking his cane from the handle, Jack stepped away from the shopping cart, leaving it in Daniel's care.

"Try the Gala. I bought some a few days ago and they were really good." Sara gave Daniel a peck on the cheek. "See you back at the house."

With Sara as escort, Jack slowly made his way to the front of the store. Sara left him then, insisting on bringing her car up to the door to pick him up instead of making him walk through the parking lot. Jack fussed, but it was all for show and they both knew it.

Soon they were on their way to Jack's house. There wasn't much conversation at first, beyond "turn here" or "right at the next stoplight." There had been a few minutes of silence and Jack was dropping into a drowse when Sara spoke.

"I always hated this part."

"Grocery shopping?" Jack asked. He wasn't fond of grocery shopping either, but hate seemed too strong a word.

Sara laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No, though I can't say I ever looked forward to shopping. I"m talking about that." She pointed to his cast.

Genuinely confused, Jack replied, "I'm the one with the broken leg. Shouldn't that be my line?"

Frowning, she shook her head, but never took her eyes off of the traffic. "It's not just the injury, Jack. it's about never knowing what shape you'd be in when you made it back to me. _If _you made it back to me. The whole 'anxiously waiting' that every military spouse including me goes through doesn't start after your team is overdue to return. It starts before you even leave the base.

"The anxiety starts the minute you walk out the door on your way to the muster area. And it doesn't stop, it doesn't ease up or go away until I see you again in one piece safe and sound. And if you aren't safe and sound, if you're wounded, then the worry doesn't end until the bandages are off, the cast is gone, and the physical therapy is over. _Then _the worry stops." She sighed deeply. "Just in time for the next mission."

Jack didn't know what to say. In all their years together, Sara had never spoken this frankly about what it was like to be the one left behind. Oh sure, she had made comments about missions being hard on those left behind or about how long the hours seemed until he returned, but she hadn't laid it out so emphatically. He needed time to take in what she'd said, process it thoroughly and give it the consideration it deserved, before responding. Unfortunately, between the pain pill and feeling drained, his synapses weren't firing very quickly. He sat there, unresponsive for a minute.

Sara misunderstood his silence. Muttering a curse under her breath, though whether it was directed at herself or at him he wasn't sure, she said, "Now I've upset you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you with this now when--"

"No, no," he interrupted, sitting up a little straighter. "I'm just a little slow on the uptake at the moment, baby." The endearment slipped out, a sign of how tired he was that his internal language filter malfunctioned. He wanted to put his hand on her arm, or her knee, _someplace_, to press reassurance directly into her skin, but a deep seated aversion to interfering with the driver kept his hand in his lap. "I want you to tell me, Sara. Talk to me, even if you think it's something that's too big to handle or too small to mention."

"It's just...this has always been a hot spot for us. I should have waited until you were better. Maybe save it for one of our coffee dates."

"Hot spot?" What the hell was she talking about? "How can this be a sore point when we've never discussed it before." This was making his head hurt.

She gave him a look that started out as incredulous and rapidly transformed into anger. "Are you kidding me? You think this is _new_?" She swore as she turned her eyes back to the road. "When I think of how many times I've said that _same damn thing_\--" Breaking off, she pursed her lips together, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that the leather covering it creaked.

Jack flashed back to a fight they'd had years back when Charlie was somewhere between toddler and pre-schooler and Sara was working part time at the library. Jack had come home exhausted and cranky from a training exercise that hadn't gone well, taking hours longer than expected and earning his team a dressing down from the officer in charge.

Arriving home long after his boy was in bed for the night and with his dinner long cold and wrapped in plastic in the fridge, Jack had tripped on one of the toys that Charlie had strewn over the living room floor. His temper had gotten the best of him and he lashed out at Sara for not picking up the toys the second that Charlie was done with them. _Must be nice to lay around all day, _he had said. _I work my ass off and you can't even get up off of yours._ And the fight was on.

She had told him, then, what it was like for her. What she went through, not just with her job and the baby and taking care of the house, but having to do so much of it alone while her husband was God knows where, doing God knows what, and only God knew what condition he'd be in when he made it home - if he made it home at all. She told him then what she had just told him now.

Jack remembered thinking _Shit, not this again, not the "I worry" speech_ because he'd heard it so often. And as he so often did - hell, as he did _every _time - he'd dismissed her with an impatient wave of his hand the way he would a pesky fly - something hardly worth noticing if it weren't for the annoyance factor. Then he promptly forgot about the conversation.

Jesus, what an asshole.

"No, you're right. You're right," he apologized, "we've been here before. Blame it on the painkillers. My brain's on vacation. We'll talk about it, I promise."

"Hmph. Talk is all we can do. It's not like anything can change. It's all part and parcel. Comes with the uniform. Right or left?"

"What? Oh, left." They were almost at his house. He gave her the street number. "Eighth house down on the left."

She pulled into the driveway and helped him into the house. She knew how to assist an invalid who was hampered by a cast, so it only took a few minutes before they were standing in the front hall.

"Bedroom?" She pointed down the hallway to the right.

For a split second, he wondered how she knew that then realized that based on the layout, that was the only direction in which the bedroom could be.

"Living room." He pointed left.

"Steps."

"I know."

It was a relief to sink back into his overstuffed couch. He let out a deep satisfied sigh and let his head fall back against the cushions as he slouched further down. Once he was situated, Sara took a moment to look around. The 'bragging wall' of all his medals, ribbons, and citations displayed over the fireplace had her looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He rolled his eyes in return.

Yeah, it wasn't like him to make a big deal of his career accomplishments, but he'd bought this house fully furnished. Those medals were one of the few things of his own that he had. He'd put them up one night when a sufficient amount of Guinness had him convinced it would be the perfect way to put his own stamp on the room.

She looked out the window to the deck where the grill was. "Still turning good steak into charred lumps, I see," she teased. "Must be a shortage of door stops."

Smiling at the old joke, he shivered a little and Sara noticed.

"Have you got an afghan?"

"Linen closet in the hall. Get the red one. It's longer."

He heard her light footsteps recede down the hallway. So, the old jokes were still there between them. Too bad the old conflicts were, too. What was the phrase she had used on him back then? _Willfully ignorant,_ that was it. Hearing and listening were two different things. Less than an hour ago, Jack had blithely pushed aside Daniel's concern with that old saying and not once had he considered the implications of those words. Jack was starting to realize just how willfully ignorant he had been.

Jack thought about his own concern over Daniel. Bad enough during SG-1's missions where Jack could keep an eye on him, but when Daniel went off world without him it was ten times worse. Daniel had gone to PR4-9FT with SG-3 while Jack was recovering from Kynthia's nanites, and Jack had had to work hard to quell his nerves until Daniel stepped back through the wormhole into the SGC. He'd never had that happen before.

Like other team members who Jack had worked with over the years, Daniel was an adult trained to handle himself. Granted, Daniel had had far less training than the spec ops guys that comprised all of Jack's previous teams, but Daniel had an aptitude for it. He was far more athletic than he seemed at first glance, acquitting himself well in any combat situation.

Despite that, Jack worried. It was disconcerting. And eye-opening. The experience had taught him how nerve wracking it was to be left behind while a loved one - or in Jack's case, a good friend - put himself in harm's way.

Suddenly Jack understood exactly what Sara had been trying to get through to him all these years. He didn't know how she'd been able to stand it for so long. Then again, Sara had always been stronger than him. It was one of the things he loved best about her.

He heard Sara come down the steps and realized his eyes had closed. It was an effort to open them again.

"Here. Let's get your feet up on the sofa." She'd had plenty of experience assessing his condition. "You'll be asleep in a minute."

Her hands were warm and sure as she helped him get re-positioned and the delicate scent of her perfume wafted around him. Jack was assailed with a sense of deja vu, of home and belonging, and it both comforted him and made his chest hurt with the loss of it.

"Maybe," she whispered, "I should go."

"No, don't. Stay. Please." He wasn't too proud to beg, even with a voice thready with fatigue. "All I need is a nap. By the time you guys have the sandwiches on the table, I'll have my second wind." He held out his hand and she took it, kneeling on the floor next to the couch.

There was nothing Jack could do about this problem. It was one of the givens, inherent in the oath he had taken as an officer, and passed to Sara by the oath they had taken together on their wedding day. Jack had seen more than one marriage break apart under the strain. Divorce was another kind of collateral damage in the military.

Considering the bad guys that they now knew existed, there was no way that Jack was going to turn his back and retire. As long as he was an officer, as long as he was active military, he put himself at risk. And it was that risk which weighed heaviest on Sara.

Stalemate.

Jack felt her hand in his and as he sank into the darkness of sleep, he felt her lips feather-soft upon his cheek. He didn't have any answers yet, but maybe now they could find one together.

Now that he was listening.

Finis.


End file.
